


Nightmares and Secrets

by fabricdragon



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Bargaining, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Family Secrets, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-SPECTRE, SPECTRE Fix-It, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Q has secrets in his past, but then again so does almost everyone at MI6... but secrets and old conflicts, can come back to haunt you.Based on artwork by AsheTarasovich posted in chapter 6 (spoilers)(please bear with me on the erratic chapter length and any punctuation issues)





	1. Skyfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts).



He was so disoriented from his nightmare that it took him several seconds to realize he was safe in his own bedroom.  He tried to get his glasses case from the bedside table and his hand was shaking so hard that he knocked it to the floor instead.  Finally he had his glasses, started the light coming on, and sat in bed with his arms around his knees, shaking.

The light followed its program of slowly fading from red to white and dim to bright– mimicking sunrise–while he tried to get his breathing under control. Alan hopped up on the bed and purred up against him worriedly until he calmed back down: Duck was nowhere to be seen, but he normally slept at the foot of the bed and had probably objected to the thrashing feet.

Sure enough Duck gave him an indignant sniff as he got out the morning cat food–not upset enough not to eat it, mind you.

That had been the worst nightmare in years: he had been trapped under rocks and debris with fire closing in; lines of computer code changing into runes and Enochian script…

Then the sound of wings, and encroaching darkness.

Another nightmare about the explosions, he supposed.  ‘Survivor’s Guilt’ the psychologists were calling it when anyone said anything–most people didn’t say anything. If he hadn’t been over seeing an installation at the back up site–the new back up site that he’d demanded– he would have been dead.

He’d gone to too many funerals.

He managed to get cleaned up, and started on his morning tea, only to get a message that he would need to personally equip an agent. He sent back a query–he was supposed to be working on the disaster that was Q branch’s computer security today–and was told to report in for an update.

He pulled himself together as best he could–which was quite well since he had unfortunate practice– and paused to glance at the mirror before leaving his home.

“I am fire and darkness, fire and light…” he hadn’t said the old mantra in years, but it settled his nerves some more, “The elements bend to my will, and the lightning obeys me…”

On his way in to work he wondered what his ancestors would say if they knew what form secret lore and ‘the work of the elements’ took these days:  lightning certainly obeyed him–what was electricity but tamed lightning after all– the power of  the elements he chose to command was far more reliable, however.

Maybe that’s why he kept dreaming of computer code becoming magic and vice versa?

And he often wished that ‘secret lore’ was a bit more organized in MI6–frankly their documentation was horrible.  Everything had to be kept in code, or half in your head, or never fully documented; which was great with a lot of things–it was how his family operated after all– but it was a terrible way to handle technology.

…

He walked into the museum still thinking about what he needed to do back at headquarters.  He had been running projections and working out what order things needed to be done in when the energy hit him and he had to stop and re-orient himself.  He took a deep breath and went in.

However much he tried to pretend that all that nonsense about mystical energy or psychic sensitivity was crap; he couldn’t quite manage it some places.  The museum always had a distinctly unusual energy–foreign in some places, settled or unsettled in others– depending on what exhibits were there and what the people milling about and concentrating on the displays were thinking.  Today the energy of the museum was darkness, unsettlingly like his nightmare… _and I am NOT giving credence to precognitive dreams!  It’s just the subconscious making sense of things you already know, and the fallacy of seeing and feeling what you expect to see. That’s all._

He was here to meet with 007, give him his equipment, and send him on his way–not let himself be swayed by nerves.  It was only natural he would be a bit unsettled he told himself: James Bond was a legend– not always a good one– and he’d been warned by M that the man was in a less than stellar mood.  He’d heard about his spectacular and witnessed death, and his subsequent return was being viewed by the old guard as nearly Arthur returning in Britain’s greatest need…

_Rubbish.  I’m letting nightmares and superstition cloud my thinking.  He was shot, he survived, and he came back because it was all over the bloody news._

…

Bond being in a ‘less than stellar mood’ didn’t begin to cover it. He had snarled about Q’s age and competence and…

_Looked like he was in pain, actually._

Q dished it back as good as he got, and… by the end it seemed a bit more good natured. He’d seen a flicker of a smile on the man’s face as they parted company–he wasn’t as good looking as people made him out to be, but… he had charisma. Several of the other agents were better looking, objectively, but Bond carried himself well–even injured– and there was something magnetic about the way he held his head, the intense focus of his eyes…

Q shook himself out of it and went back to work.

In hindsight, as Q tried to deal with a computer genius villain while still trying to get his branch up and running in the new location: Bond had relaxed some with the snark and the banter.  He probably **was** in pain, and like too many agents soldiering on–taking too many pain medications, and not the ones MI6 authorized–and being stoic.  He shouldn’t be out in the field, really, but they’d lost so many people that they needed him.

 _It was probably why he’d lashed out when I’d mentioned the inevitability of time,_ Q realized. _I… I hadn’t meant it as an attack on Bond, but he was old–for an agent– and injured… he probably took it personally._

Q resolved to apologize, and explain a bit, when Bond returned; then buried himself in his work, trying to make sure the information got to his agents on time and accurately, and that there was a working Q branch for them to return to.

…

He was trapped, drowning, struggling to make his way to the surface… but the surface was on fire.  Bond? Bond was there… was he trying to help?  He was beyond the flames, though, and the water was so heavy… and he was being dragged down… runes carved into the stones flickered and glowed as he sank past them…

Q woke up gasping for air, tangled in a blanket.

 _Right… right… sleeping in the office to deal with the cyber-attacks_ … no wonder he dreamed of drowning.

…

He held himself together by force of will–he’d caused this. He wanted nothing more than to walk into his office and break down, but no one else could manage the surveillance and reroute cameras and lights quickly enough to let Bond chase after him.

If I hadn’t put the thumb drive in place… the main building had a segregated system for testing, we hadn’t gotten the new one set up yet and I forgot… _my fault, all my fault_.

As the panic ebbed away it left nothing but a gnawing feeling of guilt and a determination to do whatever it took to fix this.

Bond wanted a trail of breadcrumbs?  Q created art.  Silva had no reason to doubt that this was genuine–he was one of a handful of people who could have followed it.

Then all they could do was wait…

 _Not just Scotland, but the middle of nowhere…_ Q knew why they wanted a fight there–no civilians around and if that was Bond’s home it was likely full of weapons– but it was completely lacking in electronics.  He tried to warn Bond that he wasn’t able to observe, but…

Even when he tried to look through the car, all he saw was smoke, and fire, and death.

Once he glimpsed someone–probably Bond–running through the battle with his jacket flying behind him like wings… Q rubbed his eyes and saw his dreams flicker behind his eyelids.

Mallory brought them all coffee and pretended he didn’t know what they were doing.

…

Q had never felt the mantle of Quartermaster so heavily as when he went to retrieve Bond… and M’s body.  He pushed aside his fear of flying to get there, but in the end there was nothing he could do but bring them home.

Bond sat across from him–across from her body– in the helicopter and stared out the window.  After a very long time he said, “I wasn’t planning on hurting you…”

“What?”

“You’re obviously terrified.”

“Oh…I hate flying.”

Bond blinked slowly and took his eyes away from the window to look genuinely puzzled at him, “THAT’S what’s been bothering you?”

“Yes. Flying up here was unpleasant–flying back with…” Q sighed and looked down at his hands clenched on the seat. “I failed.  If I hadn’t been so damned over confident he never would have gotten lose… and I’m going to die in the air.”  He hadn’t meant to say that and winced.

“Are you?” Bond’s voice was a softer rumble than it had been. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, phobias are not sensible.” He admitted wryly. “Part of it IS sensible: I have no control over this, no way of knowing if the technical people did their jobs–one mistake and…” he started getting more anxious just thinking about it.

“Here.” Bond handed him a flask. “It’s strong, so sip.”

“I normally get sedated for flights…” Q admitted, “Thank you.” and took a sip of… “Oooh… that’s nice…”

“Is it? I like it, but a lot of people find it a bit much.”

“Earth and Fire and Water…” Q muttered and Bond laughed briefly, a harsh broken sound.

“Yes, I suppose it is” he waved at the surroundings, “and air.”

“I’m trying to forget that part.”

Bond went back to staring out the window, but more pensively.

“Do you mind if I babble at you? It takes my mind off… flying.”

“I don’t mind… may I ask a question?”

“You can ask.”

“Why do you think you’ll die in the air?”

Q winced, “Family nonsense mostly… I’m an orphan like you… but my extended family was…is… strange.”

Bond just continued looking idly out the window, but eventually he turned sympathetic eyes to Q and muttered, “Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you more.”

“I… don’t normally talk about it–its… odd.” Q admitted. “My family is descended from famous wizards and witches and so on… and I’m in tech–the modern form of wizardry, I suppose.”

Bond slowly turned in the seat to look at him more fully, “So you’re not…” he cleared his throat. “Your family is…” he hesitated and finally offered up, “superstitious?”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it–although I don’t know much about the current branches of the family.”  He took a good swallow of peat and a smooth fire that burned all the way down. “My parents… well superstitious didn’t  begin to cover it:  they believed.”

They were quiet for a while, before Bond said, “She… had her own superstitions–most agents do.” He smiled, “For my own part I suppose I have a few.”

Q considered that for a while. “Skyfall… that’s an interesting name–your home.”

“It’s not really my home…but… yes it is an interesting name.”

“Skyfall–meteoric metal– was believed to lend magic and power to the blade it was forged into.” Q took a shaky breath, “Thank you for the drink– I needed it– but you best take it back before I finish it and  you have to pour me off the helicopter.”

“Legend has it there was a Skyfall there… ages ago.” Bond shrugged, “It’s why it’s named that.”  He changed the subject; “In the air?” his voice was a pleasant rumble. “I was always told I’d die in bed, shot by a jealous husband or something–assuming the jealous husband was a secret agent or supervillain.”

Q snarked back without thinking, “Well, your track record says you will be shot by a woman, doesn’t it?” and then he winced, “Sorry, I always say the wrong things.”

Bond stared at him and then slowly one corner of his mouth moved up, “You have a point.” He looked at the body bag between them. “She swore she was going to shoot me about as often as she said I was going to be the death of her…”

Q looked down and then up at Bond, “Tell me about her?  She hired me–she was frustrated by how out of date the branch was… she seemed to like my work, but she kept everyone at arm’s length.”  He sighed, “All blazing light that one.”

“Fire?”

“Fire and light…” Q winced, “sorry.”

“For what?”

“Old family… stuff.”

“We have twenty more minutes until we land, give or take; a distraction would be welcome.”

Q sighed, “There are things I can’t discuss, but… you know the classical four elements?”

“Yes.”

“Each element also… well there are two states to each element, at least: the big two are darkness and light.” He looked up to find Bond’s electric blue eyes on him, “Lightning is a separate thing…”

“Is it?” his smile was amused, but it was more inviting than anything.

Q shook himself out of it and shrugged, “Fire interacting with Light is different than Fire interacting with Darkness: she was all Fire and Light… like… like lasers? And snap judgements, and that… almost cold anger.”

Bond was quiet for a while, “You describe her well. You wanted to know about her? She was fiercely protective, but… her job… she knew you had to be cold.  I’m angry she gave the order to shoot–I got hurt after all– but it was her duty to make that call, and she did.  I rather thought she cared about me, in her own way, and… she did, but she buried her care very deep inside.”

“Fire and Light, Earth and Darkness…?” Q shook his head, “Sorry, I paid both too much attention to my parents and not enough.”

“Don’t be sorry, we all have our own coping mechanisms… as long as… as long as you get your work done and it doesn’t interfere with your life, what’s a bit of superstition, right?” Bond seemed to be relaxing a bit more–probably the scotch although he hadn’t had any since he got on the helicopter.

“No different than most other religions people get brought up with,” Q nodded relieved, “Thank you… I … the last time I told anyone about this… it didn’t go well.”

“People are strange.” Bond shrugged.

“Yes, yes they are.”

“Have you been to an MI6 funeral?”

“Far too many,” Q nodded, “the explosions…”

Bond winced, “Oh, yes…those would have been rushed, though… she had… she was the public face of our program and department–her funeral will be public.”

“Isn’t that a problem?”

“The agents often cannot go, so we have a private memorial… those of us who can be there publicly will be… we’ll have a few days to decide.” He added, “I think I’ll go, quietly: if nothing else I … I owe it to her to be there to the very end.”

“Dust thou art and to Dust you shall return…”

Bond startled and then smiled tiredly, “So not so strange a family that you didn’t go to Church of England?”

“My parents had some… unique… interpretations of some of the liturgy,” Q nodded–God knows what Bond would make of the library and the lore–“but yes, we were regular church goers–another thing that fell away in my life.”

“I didn’t imagine I would be asking….” Bond said after a very long pause–they were on final approach– “but… I’m not comfortable with ceremonies and funerals, other than at sea: would you… I don’t believe I’m asking this.” He trailed off in a mutter.

Q nodded, “of course I will–it will be good to have someone with me as well.”

The helicopter landed and Q sighed in relief.  He helped Bond to get her off the helicopter and onto a gurney, past the men saluting and looking solemn, and then she was taken away…

“Would…” Q bit his lip, “I know you don’t have yourself settled yet…Do you need someplace?”

Bond startled–and the fact that it was evident showed how exhausted he must be. “Thank you, but…I doubt I will be very good company?” he stepped back and looked thoughtfully at Q, “I will consider that, but… I think I need time alone right now.”

Q got out one of his innocuous cards–the one that said he worked in cyber security–and wrote a different phone number on it. “Here.  The main number goes to a voice mail I check twice a week; this one gets to me much faster.”

Once again Bond looked startled, and then very briefly grateful. “That’s… very kind of you, thank you.” he glanced down at the card and smirked, “Did you just hand me your true name, Q?”

Q smiled, “Not in your wildest dreams, Bond.”

“My dreams are pretty wild,” Bond tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at him and Q suddenly knew JUST how Bond ended up in so many people’s beds.

“Totally inappropriate…” Q said sternly, but he was smirking back.

“Always… I have to be true to my nature, after all…”

 _Wasn’t that a truth…_ “Call me if you need anything and… I’ll see you at the funeral if nothing else.”

Bond smiled faintly and then walked after the body, and Q turned and went back to work.


	2. Nine Eyes

Bond seemed to recover fairly well from his injuries, although you never could tell with any agent–they would tell you they were fine as they bled to death.  Bond inherited M’s china bulldog–which must have had some private meaning because he seemed inordinately touched, and several other people in the branch found themselves with small inheritances, or letters that she wrote some time ago ‘just in case’.

Q got one telling him that she expected him to get the security and electronics up to date or she would come back and haunt him–he had it framed.

When Bond came in quietly about to go on some mission that wasn’t official–she had left him some kind of last request–he looked at the letter and smiled. “She would, you know.”

“Pardon?” Q tore his eyes away from that small crooked smile and those eyes long enough to realize what he was looking at. “Oh… yes I suppose she would. Although….” He hesitated.

“Although?”

After yet another check that they were alone Q cleared his throat, “Remember I was raised with some very odd superstitions.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard odder.”

“She died in a church–hallowed ground–she can’t haunt anyone.”

Bond gave him a small sad smile, “She almost did, didn’t she… it had long ago been deconsecrated, but…it was likely close enough.”  He rested heavily on a corner of the workbench. “Not so hallowed ground that I had trouble with it.”

“Ah, yes, from your reputation one would think you would burst to flame.” Q smiled at him, “Well… in a peculiar way I suppose I’m a witch–or something– so one would think I would have been unable to go to her funeral, but there we both were.”

Bond nodded solemnly, but his eyes danced, “Obviously why we had to stay in the back…”

“Oh certainly–so if I’m a witch, or a wizard, or one of those… what does that make you?”

“A demon?” Bond’s smile was wicked.

“Hmm…but on the side of the angels, both of us.”

“There are no angels in this business, Q.”

“A lamentable truth.” Q handed him his watch and a few other odds and ends, “Fallen angels, perhaps? Fallen angels and grey hatted hackers.”

“Fallen angels, random unwholesome souls” Bond countered, “And dark wizards in their evil lair?” he waved around at the workshop.

Q laughed, “Well… I have minions… I suppose it works.”

“Evil minions, of course.” Bond nodded.

“Oh the worst–they threatened to cut off my supply of tea if I didn’t go home and sleep just a few days ago.”

Bond feigned shock while trying not to smirk, “Trying to murder you, I see? The caffeine withdrawal alone…”

Q winced, “Alas, not too far from the mark.”

Bond leaned in just a hair closer, leaning on one hand, “So… do you have a witches mark, Q?”

Q looked up into dancing blue eyes and a crooked smile and the faint smell of Bond’s cologne–it didn’t smell like brimstone, but it did smell like temptation– “I… uh… well, actually…”

Bond pushed back to his feet, “A bit too personal, my apologies.” And he turned to go.

“Yes.” Q muttered into his tools as he started putting them away.

Bond stopped and turned back, “Pardon?”

“Strange birthmarks were common in my family–so yes…”

“Do I get to see it someday?” Bond said it rakishly enough but Q thought it was reflex.

“Ah, I see–an incubus?”

“Oh nothing that low ranking, Q, I’d have to be something fairly wickeder than that–wouldn’t I?”

“Come back from this mission with more than half of your equipment in one piece… and I might consider showing you that ‘witches mark’… or at least the tattoo.”

Bond’s eyes widened, “Oh my… all manner of wickedness under that boffin exterior…” 

“You have no idea,” Q smiled into the computer screen. “This is all completely inappropriate of course, but since none of this is on the record…”

“Well, I best go work on my incubus impersonation, then.” Bond chuckled and it sent pleasant shivers down Q’s spine. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint the fell sorcerer working on his wicked enchantments…”

Q shook his head and laughed, “Go on then, and come back safely.”

“I always do–eventually.” And he left.

Q’s dreams that night were far more pleasant, if completely unprofessional and sexually charged.

…

So of course everything got tangled up in politics and nonsense at work. The problems that had begun under M–the old M– continued and escalated under Mallory.  There was the continued movement to privatize as much of the government as possible, including intelligence–and if people couldn’t tell why THAT was a bad idea he really couldn’t help them– and some of the new politicians were apparently trying to shake things up by reorganizing MI6 and MI5 in some fashion.

 Q wanted desperately to be left out of it, but no such luck now that he was a department head.

Mallory gave him only a fifteen minute warning before he had to bring in one of the politicians for a tour.  Q looked up to see Mallory come in with… _wait, I’ve seen that one… he was one of the more tech savvy individuals… maybe this wouldn’t be as bad…_

It was worse.

Max Denbigh had all the flaws that Q recognized in his own past assumptions about the value of field agents versus technology–and hadn’t learned that they desperately needed both.

What made it worse was that he was apparently a fan of Q’s work with computers, and wanted him to transfer to the Nine Eyes Project.  Q said no as diplomatically as he could, but Max was persistent–persistent to the point of being more than slightly creepy.

It was an incredible relief when Bond came back.  It was all Q could do not to burst out laughing as he insulted the man to his face in ways that _sounded_ polite… or at least, it wasn’t even remotely actionable.

When they were alone going over some of the details of Bond’s investigation–and that was trouble with a capitol T– he finally said something.

“Thank you for chasing off C, Bond, the man has been practically a stalker.”

“Has he now?”

“Yes, he wants me to work on his pet Nine Eyes Project.” Q looked over at Bond and sighed, “I suppose it’s worse because he sounds like me from a few years ago.”

“I don’t think he sounds like you at all.” Bond tilted his head and admitted, “Although I do seem to recall a few comments about computers being more dangerous than field agents.”

Q hesitated and closed his laptop, “Computers are far more dangerous than field agents, Bond– they seriously are– but like any tool or weapon it has its strengths and weaknesses.  It happens that a highly trained and skilled field agent has the exact strengths to complement the weaknesses of computer work… and… something I think they try to train out of all of you in the Double Oh program, but is incredibly valuable: empathy.”

“Empathy?” Bond raised an eyebrow, “No we aren’t recruited for that at all… it’s a detriment in our profession, usually.”  He walked Q over to the coffee machine he kept in the corner of his workshop, “As to me… well if you listen to the psychology department I’m completely lacking in it.”

“I’ve read your file, Bond–you have a remarkably high amount of empathy for a field agent.”  Bond snorted and Q continued, “You do… mind you that may be like saying it’s a remarkable amount of water for a dessert, but… compared to the other agents?”

“Not something I ever thought about myself.” 

“…I’m brewing an extra strong cup I think, I need to stay awake–you?”

“Coffee, black, thank you.”

Q made tea for himself and coffee for him and Bond drifted closer. Q could feel his body heat–the people who’d called him a furnace were quite right.

As Q finished pouring the coffee Bond spoke up–his voice a rumble and his breath against Q’s hair– “I’m not sure empathy is the word I’d use… but some people… interest me.”

Q turned and found himself practically within Bond’s arms, “Given your track record, Bond–”

“James.”

 _This was a horribly bad idea and I should stick to the professional distance of his last name_. “Given your track record, James, I think anything that happened between us right now would be… both unprofessional and more importantly… personally problematic.” He ducked under one of Bond’s arms and walked back over to his chair.

“Personally problematic?” Bond followed him casually–but a bit further back.

“All snarking aside… James,” Q handed Bond his coffee and sat down at his desk, “I think… shall we put aside the banter for a moment and… there are things you need to understand.”

“I rather thought you had already told me more about yourself than you tell most people.”

“That was my past–this is…” Q looked up and _His eyes are almost electric–but that lightning doesn’t obey my commands._

“I’m listening.” Bond nodded, and Q forced himself to look away.

“I… am not social– or rather I am superficially social– but when I make friends it’s…” Q sighed, “I always tend to take any relationship more seriously than they do–always.” Q sipped at his tea. “I take it very personally when any of my agents get hurt, or any of our tech fails to work properly–which is why it upsets me so badly when you… do what you do to your equipment–”

Bond chuckled, “I don’t set OUT to destroy it…”

“Maybe you should: you might bring more back.  In any case I already consider you more than just my responsibility as an agent; somehow you became a friend, James, and that’s rare for me…”

Bond pulled a chair over at a slightly less intrusive distance and sat down. “Not how I thought this conversation would go… but… trading honesty?” he waited for Q’s nod, “I should have walked away from you that first day.  You… for reasons I won’t go into–they’re personal– are a bit fascinating to me, and… I knew that any relationship between us, even as coworkers, was likely to end poorly. I knew from the first that the sensible, safe, thing to do was to keep as much distance between us as possible.”

Bond smiled over his coffee cup, “I’ve always been utterly horrible at safe and sensible.”

Q sat there for a few moments trying to absorb that.  “If… James, if we… It’s already going to hurt me badly–far worse than just another agent– if you leave, or if anything happens to you.  If we keep flirting and I took you up on it: well, I get very attached, very fast.  I never got the impression you were the long term commitment sort.”

“Have you forgotten already?” Bond chuckled, “I’m an incubus–I don’t think long term commitment is in my nature.”

“You’d like people to think so,” Q smiled and turned away to busy himself staring at a page on his laptop that he practically had memorized, “But you practically radiate power, you know… it’s in the way you move, and your eyes… I don’t really think you could be anything so harmless as an incubus.”

Eventually Q realized that he hadn’t heard anything for a while and turned… and somehow Bond had left without him hearing him.  He was just beginning to wonder how hurt he should be when he saw the note:

“Got a lead, didn’t want to disturb you. Call me if C bothers you.”

 _Probably for the best_. He went back to work hunting the information Bond needed.

“I am Fire and Darkness: Fire and Light,” Q said the words to himself as he worked, “Air and Water and deep Earth’s Might.”

He found a weakness in someone’s computer and ruthlessly leveraged it to access more. “The elements bend to my will, and the lightning obeys me.”

He sank deeper into the codes, all but feeling the network under his command–lightning indeed– “Spirit and Flesh: Above and Below…”

 _You may be Spectre, but I’m a wizard_. No matter how secretive, no matter how advanced, communicating across countries meant they left traces in the network. “I hear where other men hear not and speak words of Truth and Power.” _True, even if he used computers to do it and not a crystal ball._

Q smiled as the last defenses fell away under his genii, his daemons–the programs he’d created that had gotten him recruited to MI6– like the servants of ancient myths they all but laid the enemies secrets at his feet.

“Spectre… is involved with Nine Eyes?!”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Q woke up screaming. It took him far too long to manage to get his glasses, and even then his hands shook so badly that he barely managed.  He staggered out and ended up collapsed on the sofa, curling into a blanket and trembling until he could get himself under control enough to even make tea.

He’d been in a palace of ice high in the air, and the wards and runes were nearly invisible until the light hit them just so­… or until he’d touched them; until blood dropped on broken shattered glass and revealed them.  He’d looked in a pane of glass–or ice– and seen not his own reflection but Max Denbigh…

And then he’d fallen in a spray of broken shards, the sigils gleaming as his blood trailed into them… glass and ice falling on him, burying him…

Or was it Max who fell?

After he’d had some tea and mostly stopped shaking he went into his store room and carefully unlocked a secure storage closet.  He stared at the books and ritual tools for a long time, and finally reached out and touched the spine of his mother’s book… it felt warm under his fingers, as it always did.

“Treat it like research,” he muttered. “Either something is genuinely going on, or my subconscious is trying to tell me something…” he started pulling down books and looking for the sigils from his dreams–he knew some of them, but some… he didn’t remember.

He studied every waking minute that he wasn’t hip deep in his official duties–which wasn’t as much as he needed.

“Cramming is always a bad idea,” he muttered to himself as he studied  the photographed pages on his computer pad–while he was waiting for  minions to hand him the results from two tests of equipment, tracking Bond’s Smart Blood, and working on a program to shut down the Nine Eyes problem.

“Well we need more people,” one of the minions commented as they handed Q a test result.

“Ah… yes, yes we do…” Q looked around, thinking about how many people they had lost, and how slow a process it was to replace them. “Thank you…” he had to put aside his studies to look over the stress tests on the equipment– _God knew the agents were their own stress tests._

He did his best to catch up on everything at once, but he had the horrible feeling that he was years behind

…

He went to meet with Bond–critical and secure information about Spectre and Nine Eyes to hand over and a need of a computer tech onsite, which Bond certainly wasn’t.  The man seemed equal parts agitated, distracted, and intent and the charisma and power behind the man was crackling even closer to the surface.  His eyes were practically a blaze of blue…

 _Magic_.

Q blinked dizzily and when he looked back at Bond in some confusion the man had his closed agent face firmly in place.  _Was he a mage?  Did he have talent  that was untrained, or had he known what I was speaking about and decided not to admit to it…_

“Sorry, I still haven’t recovered from flying out.” _Either he knew that he had magic, or he didn’t–now wasn’t the time._

“Oh… yes of course.” Bond nodded at him, keeping his hands away, unlike before. “Can you drive back to London or do you have to fly?”

“I SHOULD fly… I’ll see if I can take a sedative.”  He made a point of smiling wryly at the man, “I’m afraid any other discussions will have to wait until the current mess is dealt with.”

He was distracted as he left.  He had noticed odd energy in the museum when they met… and at Skyfall… and… a few other times, but not otherwise.  Was it simply that he’d been studying more? Was he simply more sensitive?  Or was Bond a natural talent and… it ran closer to the surface when he was on a mission?

Unfortunately some other people took advantage of his distraction. He found himself cornered by armed professionals and dragged off before he could do more than activate his tracer.   _I’m more valuable alive and in one piece_ , he kept reminding himself.  He just hoped they thought so too.

But when he finally was dumped into a warehouse– _why was it always a warehouse?_ – his other senses were screaming danger. Everything looked mundane, though?

After a short while a man came in–suit, no sidearm that Q could see, and no electronics to speak of: even his watch was analog– and old habits and warnings began to claw their way up through the adrenaline. He kept his head down and tried to look small and cowed, only glancing up through his lashes at the man: he saw one of the unknown runes from his dreams on the man’s tie pin. He returned his gaze to the floor and tried to stay calm. _Wizard_!  He was a wizard, and no way to find out if he was powerful or not without giving away that Q was too…

Luckily–or unluckily–he didn’t say a word about magic, or blood lineage: he wanted the secured keys to MI6’s computers. Q tried protesting that he was only a minion and didn’t have them, but the man was utterly unconvinced

“You are the Quartermaster of MI6 and the only one with the backdoor access to the computers, Mister Lake,” the man was using the name on his MI6 identification, which was very bad–if not as bad as his birth name. “You are supposedly an intelligent man–let’s see if you learn quickly.”  He nodded behind Q and then for a time there was nothing but pain.

…

He was dumped into a small cell to ‘think things over’ and mostly lay gasping.  They were damn fools hitting him with that much electricity–they could easily have killed him.  They were twice damned fools for assuming he was harmless without his phone and laptop.  He hauled himself up to the door and studied the lock–electronic.  It was certainly un-hackable by anyone mundane without tools…

He wasn’t mundane.

It was of course completely un-hackable to a wizard–the best they would be able to manage was to fry the circuits; which in this case would have kept the door locked.   So this door was proof against a mundane without tools, or a wizard.

Q smiled: _Lightning serves me_. 

He had discovered his affinity for electronics early on, and cracking locks was a practice he had engaged in for fun–mundane or not.  Q doubted any other wizard in the world could do this, but unlike most mages, or those who attempted the arts, he had no trouble with electronics. He smiled as he thought of the analog watch the man had worn–probably shorted out too many digital ones, or even battery ones, before he gave up. 

“Talk to Daddy,” he whispered as he let his fingers trace delicately over the digital lock.  He felt the electronics respond, could see the card key and code needed to open the door–he whispered charms and convinced the lock it had received the right card signal before typing in the code manually.  _Computers were easier to convince than people_ , Q patted the lock gently as he slipped out of the cell.

He found his phone–and his glasses– in a nearby room: they had hooked his phone up to a computer trying to crack it–a lost cause, besides he kept nothing business related in it.  He sent in the call for an emergency rescue and extraction and retrieved his things… _no weapons in here, damn._ Well, at least he had his emergency back up in his wallet–no one expected a laundry cash card to be anything unusual.

He used their own computers to access their cameras–nothing magical about that, just being the best at what he did.  After plotting a route carefully he went out and found one of the guards alone…

“What the HELL?!” the guard exclaimed as Q pretended to stagger blindly down the hallway, and lean into the walls.  He was stunned enough that he was only JUST reaching to call in when Q fell into his arms.

“Momma?” Q slurred up at the man as he brought the concealed injector to his neck.

“How the… OW!  What… uhhhh….”  The guard blinked slowly and slid to the floor. Q dragged him out of sight and stripped him quickly, eventually dragging him back to Q’s old cell–they wouldn’t look there for a while.

He only had to shoot one other guard on his way out–he didn’t see their boss, unfortunately.  He met the rescue group off premises and left the rest to the cleanup team.

“Are you alright?!” one of the junior agents stared at him in shock.

“No, of course not… I need medical, but I need to get back to MI6 quickly.”

“Yes sir…” 

_That meant another plane–fucking lovely._

…

“They had my identification, M,” Q reported from medical. “And with what I already reported about Nine Eyes you KNOW Denbigh is the leak.”

“I believe you, but politically we can’t make a single move against him until we have proof of wrong doing.” M rubbed his face tiredly, “Otherwise it just looks like trumped up charges to keep our budget and authority.”

“Then I suggest we assume the man is the leak, and an active threat, and act accordingly.” Q snapped, “I don’t care if you use some untraceable poison or break into his office and search it, but I’m going back to work on the program side–you have the best killers and thieves in England at your beck and call, M: use them.”

 


	4. Frozen

Glass… broken glass shattering and falling and…

Q stood frozen, reaching out a moment too late to stop Max Denbigh from falling: Mallory had to help steer him back to headquarters. He distantly remembered people talking to him–congratulating him– but his mind’s eye only saw the computer code and runes, and the blood and ice… air and water and light… _frozen_.

“Q?” Bond’s voice from somewhere on the other side of the ice. _Usually he was on the other side of the fire, wasn’t he?_ He tried to respond, but… ice… he was surrounded by runes and broken ice… bleeding…

Someone touched him and suddenly heat raced through his senses–fire and earth and darkness– and the ice shattered.

Q stared up from the floor into Bond’s blue eyes. “What… what happened?”

“You were in…” Bond hesitated, “Some kind of shock, I think.”

Q looked around from the floor in confusion–he was in his office workshop. “I was imprisoned… in shattered ice…”  Q held out his hand and Bond took it to help him up–Magic flared under his fingers before Bond pulled his hand away. “How…How long have you known you had magic, James?”

Bond winced, “You… didn’t notice before–I suppose I hoped you never would, but I couldn’t leave you like that…”

“You kept my secrets, wizard, I’ll keep yours.” Q said it as solemnly as he could.

Bond looked startled, and stared at him with those too bright eyes, “you think…ah… well… ah…” he looked around rather oddly, “What were you doing here?”

“I have no idea.” Q shook his head, “likely trying to get back to… something of my stronghold?” Q waved at the cardigan hanging on the hook and Bond kindly got it for him.

“Most… wizards don’t deal with electronics…” Bond was looking around the room, “Its… you didn’t practice you said… before.”

“Is THAT why you can’t bring anything back in one piece?!” Q suddenly sat up and stared at the man, “Wait… that explains anything electronic, but not the rest of it…”

Bond held up a hand, “As I said, I’m not TRYING to destroy the equipment–and some of it just gets damaged in mundane use… well, mundane seems a poor word, but you know what I mean.”

“Fuck.” Q shook his head, “how did I never guess…”

“Do you have any idea why you were… imprisoned?” Bond walked over to the tea kettle tucked into a corner of the room. “I’m still listening but you need tea.”

“Bless you.”

Bond chuckled, “We’re… all wicked wizards here in your evil lair… remember?”

“I think… I don’t know… I’m really an awful wizard, Bond–I went in for more mundane education.  I have a guess, based on my dreams… oh God, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you would understand–not believe me possibly…”

“Tell me what?” he set Q’s favorite mug down on the table next to him.

“Spectre has wizards.  The man who…” Q shivered, “The man who ordered me tortured was wearing one of the runes I don’t know, and he was definitely a–”

“What?” Bond’s voice had gotten very quiet. “Ordered you tortured?  No one told me anything about this…”

“You were in the middle of a mission, Bond.” Q sighed and wrapped his hands around the mug to fight the phantom cold. “I got picked up after I left you–they hurt me badly, but no permanent damage.  Thank God he didn’t know I was a wizard, but… anyway, I got myself out and called for an extraction and clean up: they never caught him, but I got back safely.”

Bond flexed his hand slowly. “I’ll want his description, and… what rune?”

Q smiled tiredly, “One of the runes I have been dreaming about–having nightmares about– for quite some time… I had a nightmare about falling and ice… I think… Look, James, do you have actual training in magic? Because I only have a bit, and I’m trying to catch up by studying my family’s books…”

“Not…” Bond sighed and rubbed his eyes, “I have a lot of knowledge but it… it’s too different and I don’t know how to relate it to you.  Tell me what you think, and about those dreams…quickly.  I came back to borrow the car…”

“The car? What for?”

“Madeline honestly seems to be innocent in this, but she’s known–her family line is known.  I… was betting that Spectre would try to finish her off or acquire her, and now that you’ve told me they have mages?  Well… I always suspected her father had talent…”

Q nodded slowly, “They would try to re-acquire the blood lines if they’ve lost their best people…”

“C–Max–wasn’t a mage, though…”

“No.  What I think happened is they ensorcelled him–not saying he was a pawn entirely, but… I think they needed someone to handle the electronics…”

“That… would make sense…” Bond was looking at him oddly and then around the room.

“I THINK when he dealt with me, they were trying to… link to me as well.  I think I started having those dreams about Max suddenly because they were using him to try to get ME… not just mundanely… but…”

“But that was aimed at a mundane, not a wizard.” Bond looked at him speculatively, “If you had the training your power level suggests… you would have noticed– blocked it– but you don’t…”

“When he died… the death energy…” Q shuddered, “I was freezing in the air, falling… and…”

Bond very carefully put a hand on his shoulder–the man was as warm as a campfire. “Let’s go into the room with the cameras, Q… you know we still suspected a leak.  I walk in and you hand over the car and I leave… and then you go straight home and– you DO have wards on your house? Please tell me you do?”

“I’m not THAT uneducated, Bond… yes, I do.  I’m not certain they’ll hold against a trained magus–it’s mostly of the don’t notice me, nothing to see here, style– but… yes.”

“… I should have walked away the first time that I noticed you…” Bond sighed.

“I thought you said you were terrible at safe and sensible?”

“True.” Bond nodded slowly, “Let me get busy pretending to retire with my ‘darling Madeline’ and see if I can lure any more wizards out of THEIR warded strongholds.”

Q pulled himself together and went into the garage workshop.  After a short while Bond came in and brusquely demanded the keys–Q made a point of looking sadly after him as he left and then busying himself in work.

He went home, and promptly called in sick.

Q opened the trunk with the books that hadn’t been familiar–belonging to older relatives, and likely more advanced than anything he had ever contemplated. If any of those runes were in his books he would find them.

 


	5. the price to pay

Q curled up at home with his cats and his tea and some delivery soup, and went through the books he hadn’t wanted to open: the ones talking about the old wars with other wizarding houses, and the darker magics that no one in his family had used in generations. He found some of the runes, only some, and it worried him because they were mostly about draining power from others, and some of the more pernicious bindings. He found references to summoning of fell creatures–some of the books called them demons, others called them by other names– to fight on their behalf, and the kind of prices to be paid when one of them slipped control.

It gave him nightmares on top of his nightmares.

At least there was no sign of Spectre calling on THOSE kinds of creatures: they probably didn’t want to deal with anything that could compete with them for power. Q was uncomfortable to find that his own ancestors had dealt extensively with summoned creatures… until one of his great–great–grandparents had been careless with a summoning and wiped out most of the active mages in the house… and left them vulnerable to the houses they had as rivals.   _So that’s why we were so secretive and so alone compared to the other houses…_ Apparently after that incident the survivors in his house–his direct ancestors– had banned even the study of summoning, or the records, and none of those books had been passed down.

There WAS an illustration in one of the older books–a captured one, not from his own house– that showed a summoned demon, and gave instructions for summoning it.  Everything else on the page was illustrated with precision, but the creature was an ink blot with no hard edges and a hint of wings… and two eyes, depicted as almost a void or a light in the midst of the black. It was apparently easy to summon a demon–not so easy to control it–and they would turn on the summoner with enthusiasm.

 _Of course_ , Q thought– after he had gone on to other books looking for something he could use, not just something to cause nightmares– _if someone tried to bind me to do their dirty work I’d be a bit vindictive too…_

_…I am a bit vindictive, and someone DID try to bind me to do their bidding… maybe I should try thinking more like a demon and less like a wizard…_

Q went back to studying with an eye on both defense and offense.  Unfortunately magics like this usually took years–decades– of study to handle safely, and he was up against people who had made this their life’s work…

 _Drones… and Double Oh agents_ , Q nodded firmly to himself, _two things I am expert at wielding and they don’t have._

…

When he returned to work–earlier than he would have liked but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his post for more than a few days– he began hunting down Spectre agents.

He kept watch on Bond’s smart blood as best as he could, but it appeared to be degrading far more rapidly than expected– _figures, he was a wizard after all_.  Bond did indeed appear to be drawing all manner of Spectre and related villains out of hiding–and then they ceased to be a problem in a rather permanent manner.  Madeline left him to run off to anonymity after just a few weeks–Q actually felt sorry for her: _she hadn’t asked to be part of this any more than I had, and apparently had fewer clues about it_. Bond was rather publicly sulking and ‘drowning his sorrows’ when Q caught him on various cameras. When Q found a Spectre agent near him he quietly passed the information along…and then they stopped being a bother to anyone.

In the meantime he was taking a page from the information about demons: carry a grudge, and carry it hard.

Q used the one thing other mages couldn’t make use of–computers– to hunt them down and when he found them? Well… drone strikes on the wrong house, Double Oh agents showing up, these things just happened… a lot.  Even Tanner and M seemed a bit startled by the vehemence with which he took to the hunt, but they didn’t try to stop him, only occasionally urging him to go home or rest.

Eve Moneypenny dragged him out to a party–which was an eye opening experience to say the least– and then showed up the next day to urge him to get enough rest.

“I can go with you to a party, Eve, or I can rest… pick one…” Q looked up blearily and hung over from his work station.

Eve was appallingly chipper and rested looking, given that she had still been partying when Q had been poured into a cab. “Kids these days, no stamina…” she smirked, “But you need more rest…”

Eve recruited his minions into forcing him into a cab if he was still at work after seven–barring emergencies or scheduled hours.  There certainly were emergencies, and scheduled shifts where he had to be on call at odd hours due to an agent being in a different  time zone or working at night, but in general he was  taken firmly to a cab every evening at Seven–Thirty.

…

Q woke up dry mouthed and disoriented.  What the hell kind of party was…that was last week–Moneypenny threw her stiletto heel into the dartboard, bullseye…

Ugh… it was so COLD…

He managed to pry open his eyes to stabbing pain and a stone floor… he mostly lay there trying to make sense of anything and desperately trying to work some moisture into his mouth.

Cab… going home… that was the last thing he remembered. Well lying on cold stones wasn’t helping him any.

He slowly forced himself to his knees and looked around… he was in a tower room…? a stone tower… the windows were small–tall and narrow and not big enough to climb through–and had no glass, and the cold air was blowing right through them.  His sweater was missing, so were his shoes and socks… _and my glasses–damn that was most of my tools… and my warmth_. He staggered to his feet and tried to move toward the door…

He hissed in pain as he hit the wards.

There was a circle of blood… well, blood colored… runes… all… Oh hell…

Q collapsed back onto his knees and stared at doom.  If he was right about the majority of those runes then this circle was designed to drain his magic, and his life, to power a mage…or a working by a group of mages… he hesitantly put out a finger to the warded circle and drew it back quickly when he felt the magics bite at him.

_Fuck._

He moved around carefully, to the edge of the circle near one of the windows and looked out–it looked like Scotland?  _Well, it looked like someplace in the UK at any rate, so they didn’t take me that far…_ As he moved he suddenly felt a small hard object in the inside pocket of his trousers and pulled it out–his watch… he’d broken the wristband working on a project and shoved it in his pocket… they wouldn’t think anything of electronics, being wizards…certainly wouldn’t make anything of a wrist watch with a broken strap…

He considered the price, and the consequences… and studied the runes: when the moon and the stars hit the right alignments for this circle, he would die–slowly and painfully, in all likelihood.

Q looked at his watch.  He pressed the buttons in the correct order, and tossed it out of the window to ensure the signal would reach. Now he would definitely die, but so would anyone in this building when the drone attack went off.

He sat back on the floor for a while.  He hoped that Bond would be safe–he hadn’t been able to track him for at least a week. I never thought I would outlive him… not with the risks I took… probably should have taken him up on that date. He went over all of the contingencies he had never expected to need, but had put in place: who would take over which  mission, and so on.  _They better figure out I was missing before my poor cats missed too many meals…_

Trying to distract himself from numb feet and anxiety, he started trying to figure out how he’d been captured… then kicked himself for not seeing it–his people put him in a cab at almost the same time every day!  all they had to do was replace, or ensorcel, a cab driver.

Tanner was going to have a fit when he figured that out–but we were never the department for THAT kind of security… damn.

He waited… waited for the ritual to kill him, or the drone strike…

And slowly–very slowly– his numb acceptance started turning into fury.

What if they get away from the drone strike?  What if… what if they aren’t close enough to this building?  How close do they need to be for the ritual anyway?

Q was knocked off his feet by the first blast, and thrown again by the second–he stayed down after that.  Apparently old stone buildings were not the intended target of the typical drone package… the tower stayed quite relentlessly intact.

So did the runes and circle.

Q waited, hoping there would be a follow up of nicely mundane agents that he could convince to power wash the floor before they tried to extract him…

Was it getting warmer?

For a moment Q was afraid the ritual had begun, but no… some part of the building had started to burn–he could smell the smoke, began to see it past one of the windows…

Burn to death, die of smoke inhalation, or be drained in a ritual… not a good choice of ways to die… and he hadn’t heard any sounds of people, so the wizards likely hadn’t been here…

Q swore violently and stared at the door–too far on the other side of the wards.

“Forgive me, James.” Q shook his head–Bond probably would approve, anyway, even if no other wizard would… if he was going to die in agony? Then he was going to take every last one of them with him. 

he began using a trace of power to stir the air inside the wards, and thus to pull the soot and smoke in, to have it settle on the floor…

Then he drew the few summoning runes he knew… and began to call up power–not just the simple chant he had known since childhood, but adding in what little he had found from the other books and the warnings…

Q focused his thoughts as best as he could _I’m going to pay for this_ … snatches of a song playing in the back of his mind… _We belong way down below_ …

“The elements bend to my will, and the lightning obeys me.”…

“Air and Fire”–a memory of James blue eyes crossed his mind and he ruthlessly shoved it aside.

 _I always knew I would die in the air… and there is the stone and the runes of my nightmares… and beyond it the fire… and Bond beyond that_ … he braced himself and continued on…

“Magic calls to magic, spirit to spirit…”  Q looked at the runes and the cost and continued…

“I offer a bargain”–not a binding, a bargain: I don’t have any tools to bind a demon in any case… “do my bidding, carry out my will… and I offer myself in exchange…”

The fire had been crackling against the door but within the room it went suddenly still…

and then the door blasted away as power crackled from within the circle.  Q felt the wards and runes sweep away as power that was partly his own, and partly something … else… poured through him.

There was a sound of wings and a sense of power–terrifyingly overwhelming power… but somehow familiar?

He opened his eyes to see a pair of blue eyes–unnaturally bright– in a black shadow coalesce into… Bond?  The shadows shrinking into him, until for a moment he was there with wings… and then… he was standing in front of Q…

“Do you have the slightest idea what you have done?” Bond’s amused but rough voice, Bond’s shape, Bond’s too bright eyes… the demon took the shape of James because I was thinking about him? oh… no…no he didn’t.

Q stared up at the demon, “You…were never a wizard…”

“no.”  he looked around the room and something like a shadowy wing brushed the ground where a rune had been–it flared weakly and faded.

Q wondered if Bond would kill him for a moment, but then he couldn’t help but chuckle–and cough because of the smoke–“Then… I suppose what I’ve done… is give up any hope of ever seeing my equipment come back in one piece…”

Bond stared down at him in disbelief for a moment and then one corner of his mouth quirked up, and then the other, and then he laughed… and it was just James–James with the grim face that turned so bright when he laughed, and his deadly humor, and…. Q reached both hands up and Bond pulled him to his feet easily–he was still warm as a furnace.

“Do your bidding, wizard? But not be bound? I admit that’s novel…”

“I was going to die, James–I wanted to take the bastards down with me…”

Bond picked him up with ease. “With pleasure, Q…but first lets get you someplace warm and get you fed–you were always too thin.”

There was a strange sensation–darkness and fire, and something like being caught in a tide– and he was gasping for air  in Bond’s arms…outside his own door.

“You need to let us in so that your wards don’t shatter.”

Q could only nod and shakily let them both in, through the wards, and the electronic locks…Bond stared at him as he closed them.

“You… are a very strange wizard, Q, did I ever mention that?”

Q didn’t say anything until he’d found socks, the warmest pajamas he owned, his spare glasses and a sweater,  and made a cup of tea for them both.  When he brought the cup to Bond he found both of his cats curled up happily against him on the sofa.

“Traitors… they just like you because you’re warm.”

“… and you?” Bond looked entirely human again–just nearly nude and lounging on the sofa–except for his eyes, which were still a bit too bright to be natural.

“i… could be convinced to curl up against you because you are warm, yes.” Q muttered and handed him his tea.

“… I must admit you’re taking this… ARE you taking this well? Or is this some boffin approximation of shock?”

“I’d ask why you never told me, but that’s obvious.” He was so very grateful he always kept a spare pair of glasses, at least partly because Bond sprawling on his couch with cats was worth having a clear view. “I suppose I’m taking it well because I had rather come to terms with the fact that I was going to die…am i?”

“you’re mortal: you’ll die–eventually.”

“What little information I had did lead me to believe that a summoned demon would take great joy in ripping me to pieces.” It was so surreal to be having this conversation in pajamas in his living room. he raised an eyebrow, “of course you aren’t quite what I was expecting…” he hesitated, “Although you were crossing my mind quite a bit…”

“was i? do tell…” Bond was smirking.

“…” Q looked at his tea for support, “I had been thinking that if I had known I was going to die before you were, I would have taken you up on a date…”

“I have no idea if that’s flattering or appalling…”

“both?”

“Well, Q… if I recall… and a demon is never wrong about such things… you offered a bargain–I accept.”

Q blinked up from his tea to find Bond had moved, and was nearly on top of him.

“I assume your bidding and your will,” Bond murmured almost into his ear and his arms were so strong and… Q felt safe. “Were for me to hunt down every wizard who was responsible for that and utterly destroy them?”

“Y-yes?  That…” Q mind ground to a halt as Bond began moving those warm hands up under his shirt and his mouth was moving along Q’s jaw.  “That was rather…what I had in… mind…”

“A demon is always stronger when he’s partnered with a wizard–as a wizard is stronger with a demon.” Bond pulled back enough to let Q look into his eyes–so blue they were like glowing runes, or lightning. “We will be able to take them apart…” he smiled wickedly, “I’ll enjoy it.”

“…oh… uh… good?” Q stammered.

“But first I think I’ll collect on the other half of the bargain–or at least a first payment…”

Bond  pulled him in and his hands were warm against Q’s skin, and his eyes were so very, very blue, and his mouth….“you did offer me yourself, Q, so I think I’ll let you decide whether I’m an incubus or not...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story. The next chapter is the inspirational artwork, which was a bit of a spoiler....


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AsheTarasovich 's wonderful art

(Image shows Q, barefoot and in trousers and a shirt,kneeling in a stone room.  there is a barred door open to flames, and James Bond- with demon wings- is flying in toward Q)


End file.
